


Regifted

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mob AU, Rungs a target, Whirl's a gangster, cue spy music, neither are telling the other everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:38:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Whirl's an Enforcer for the Mob. This means when he's assigned to "relocate" a mech, he does just that. Relocates them.Into a grave.Except the mech in question isn't acting like the normal targets. Too sassy for one. Too accepting for another. Facts stop adding up and Whirl's BS meter is going off the charts. Now he's determined to figure out what the little orange mech is hiding, and why exactly Whirl was supposed to kill him.





	1. Gifted

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt that Interrobam gave me that is ALMOST FINISHED arrrgh. I just need a few more scenes and then it's done but I can't seem to cross that line, so I'm posting the first chapter in hopes it nudges me to finish the few scenes I need. I did split it into three parts and for once it will stay in three parts, because most of the other two parts are done (so for once I actually know how it's going to go lol) 
> 
> Warnings: Well it's a mob AU so you know. Threats, abuse, mentions of rape, mentions of murder, body horror, scars, etc. If you want something mentioned up here please throw me a line!

* * *

 

Twintwist was such a fucking liar. 

_ ‘The last job’s a fun one!’  _ He’d said.  _ ‘You can take your time with it.’ _ He’d said.

Yeah, as if everybody enjoyed murder.

Not that Whirl wasn’t down to off a fucker who needed a beheading, but there was a pretty big difference between a rival mobster or some SOB who’d done the wrong thing a few too many times-- and the broken mech slouched in his living room. 

Worse was the other things Twintwist and some of the guys had joked about--things that made sense now, things that sounded an awful lot like rape. And okay, Whirl knew the people he worked with weren’t the nicest bunch, but wasn’t a mob the kind of thing that rose in response to police corruption and shit? Didn’t they directly deal with the worst of the worst, the kind the police wouldn’t deal with? Sure yeah, for a price and all, but like, they were supposed to control that shit. Not encourage it.

_ ‘Who are you fooling? You knew what you were gettin’ into when you joined.’ _ The voice was snide, and sounded oddly like his military captain, the one Whirl had done remarkably worse things for than the Boss had ever asked him to do.  _ ‘It’s what you were made for.’ _

Which--yeah. He wasn’t in the mood to argue tonight, especially not with himself and super especially when the stupid inner voices were right. So he didn’t. He marched up to the small thing wrapped in--for fucks sake Blurr was that a bow?-- and took stock of the guy.

Broken optics, broken face, probably blind and deaf. Definitely limited mobility--Whirl didn’t see any wheels but that didn’t mean a bunch hadn’t been torn off.  Damage and dents littered his entire body--the orange plating so scratched it looked like the guy had been in a high speed wreck. Handcuffs--the thick kind, meant to paralyze significantly larger mechs-held his arms behind his back and he was sitting at a weird angle--right leg was probably completely useless. 

Worst of all his antenna was kinked. Whirl knew how fragging painful that was, and reached out automatically to set it straight. The mech jerked from him, optics wide and  _ whoa!  _ How could he have missed the magnet keeping his mouth shut? 

_ ‘Not like your monster claws would’ve helped anyway.’  _ And oh, ohhh it was gonna be one of those fucking nights. A night of helm aches and snide, unwelcome  inner comments voicing shit he’d rather never think about again and refusing to shut up until Whirl was exhausted from his own inability to recharge. Whirl changed his movement,  knocking the magnet off instead. 

“Do I even wanna know what you did to piss somebody off enough to get me involved?” He asked, half to focus on something--anything--else and half because, well, he was curious. The mech swaying on his knees before Whirl wasn’t your average job. Didn’t look the type at all. Looked like a brainiac, all processor no lightbulbs or whatever the saying was. (Whirl didn’t pay attention to that crap. He wasn’t paid to and he didn’t pretend he cared if he mixed up sayings.) 

“Poor moral standing, apparently.”  The guy said and wow, he didn’t even stutter! He was fearful, clearly, but there was an underlying tone of sass there that perked the mobster’s attention immediately. He wondered how long this weird courage would hold out for. 

Kinda wanted to find out.

“Take it you told someone no?” 

The mechs vents hissed, more from pain than anything but his voice was clear. “I refused to lie on the stand and landed a conviction. Life sentence for the defendant.” 

Court case conviction? They only person even remotely worth killing a guy for over such a thing was--oh.

Oh shit. 

The Boss’s kid. 

Whirl whistled. Or well, played a recording of a whistle. Cybertronian whistling was kind of a lost art to begin with seeing they had metal lips and all and well, with Whirl’s face---  _ ‘No, no, let’s not go there, focus Whirl.’ _ “No wonder they’re pissed.” He said. “Looks like they let you know it too.”

“They were rather upfront about it.” The guy winced and a weird emotion went through Whirl--was that...pity? Nah, couldn’t be--but he shook it off, like the pro he was.

“Well, I hate to tell ya’ Sweetspark, but you’re kind of in a frying pan to fire situation here.”

“I had assumed.”  The guy said and man oh man was that a lot of sarcasm! Whirl would’ve grinned if he could’ve. Mech playing it cool like this while facing down a Wrecker was rare. 

Too rare for Whirl to rush the encounter.

Never-mind the helmache that wouldn’t go away.

_ ‘Or the exhaustion. Lack of sleep getting to you? You know, considering you wake up all the time from nightmares?’  _

“Lucky you,” Whirl continued, ignoring the thoughts, “I’m not exactly in the mood for all the work killing you’s gonna require tonight.” It would be a lot of work too. The orange mech was in Whirl’s apartment, for one, which wasn’t exactly a safe place to commit a felony. Sure yeah he lived in prime Mob territory but that didn’t mean you could go around doing things out in the open. This was still corrupt-cop central, after all. N’ nothin’ pissed those bot’s off more than the mob coming in and stealing their revenue. 

So really. He’d have to move Sassy McSass to a different location--and do it in a way that people wouldn’t notice. Or at least, not comment on. Then he had to actually do the process of killin’ and hey, that shit took it out of you, especially after a hard day of threatening lowlifes to cough up credits. Then Whirl’d have to hide the body, get the trophy the boss would want, cover the entire thing up and  _ then _ go home and frag if that didn’t sound like way too much effort right then. 

Those idiots had told him he could take his time anyway, so by golly he was gonna do just that. 

“I appreciate it,” The dead mech was saying, “but I’d rather you just kill me now.”

Whirl shrugged, turning walk into the berthroom. “We can’t all get what we want.” 

Like recharge. Which is what he wanted, and what he knew he wasn’t gonna get. But frag him if he wasn’t gonna try anyways. Death and dismemberment could wait for the morning. 

A noise followed him, a combination of hissed vents, movement (and possibly, a low-muttered curse!) All were ignored. 

A mech like that, who crossed the Mob like he had? He wasn’t gonna try to get out.   
  


xXx

The dead mech had tried to get out. 

Whirl had to give him props for it, especially considering how messed up he was to begin with. He’d made decent headway too, considering his injuries. 

Didn’t quiiiite make it to the door though. 

Whirl stepped over him on his way to the closet his landlord called a kitchen. “You dead?” He called, after trying to remember if he had any energon left. 

“Not yet.” Came the groan from the floor. 

“Well don’t worry, we’ll fix that.” Whirl said, riffling through his cabinets.

High grade, high grade, high grade…

“I’d appreciate it if you hurried.” 

Score! Energon! 

“After breakfast.” Whirl said, right as his comm rang. ::Go for Whirl.:: He answered, chugging the energon. 

::Boss needs you.:: 

Of fragging course he did. ::When?:: 

::Now. Tweaker Lane. He’s expecting you..::

So it was going to be one of those days then. Lovely. Whirl heaved a sigh through his vents, turning on a pede, only for his optic to catch on the injured mech on the floor. 

“Sorry buddy, looks like you’re gonna have to live another day.” He stalked over, heaving Dead Mech to his pedes. Dead mech flinched and Whirl was gonna ignore it, he was. 

Except the flinch wasn’t the right kind of one, for the movement he just made. 

Whirl knew. He was an expert in causing flinches.

He paused, tilted his helm. Considered things. Then reached again.

Same thing, wrong flinch.

Whirl’s helm tilted the other way. “Jus’ puttin’ you on the couch.” He grunted more than said. He changed up his approach, lied to himself about why he bothered announcing his intentions, and pulled Dead Mech up into his arms.

“What a gentlemech.” Wheezed Deadmech. Whirl snorted, processor still on that flinch. 

_ ‘You always did like puzzles.’  _ His inner voice said, supplying an image of a watch and nooooope, let’s focus on anything other than  _ that!  _

Like how light this guy was, frag! Even for someone who’d been beaten and coulda had a chunk of armor removed, that was just unnatural amount of lightness! 

Whirl placed him on the couch, rising to move away only to stop, and then considerately turn on the holo-screen. Because if there was one thing that would stop a would be dead mech, still trussed up with their hands bound and beaten half to death, it was processor numbing  television. 

“Your choices are Gameshows or that idiot news reporter. Pick one.”

“Gameshows.”

“Good choice. Can’t stand that stupid reporter.” 

“He’s…” Dead mech winced, trying to adjust himself in a somewhat comfortable position. Or trying to vent. One of the two. Completely futile either way. “-a touch annoying.” 

“Nice that we agree.” Whirl chirped.“Bye dead mech. Be good. I’ll murder you when I get home!” 

And out the door he went, the mech he was supposed to kill watching him through a blank (if somewhat pained) gaze. 

 

xXx

Whirl was gonna kill a mech.

Not the one he was supposed to kill because he was exhausted from being involved in two shootouts and an interrogation, but when he had the energy to do so hoo _ olly _ Primus, someone was gonna fragging die. Preferably choking on their own engine fluid. 

He was in for a bigger surprise though, when he ran into the (not yet) Dead Mech. On the floor.

Outside the apartment.

Well. Sorta. Like, just barely, over the threshold of the door, but his torso was definitely in the hall, so Whirl counted it.  

“Hello.” He groaned, as Whirl lumbered up to loom over him. 

“Hey yourself.” Whirl said, anger dissipating into something mildly amused. This guy just did not  _ quit!  _ It was beyond impressive at this point-- he had to be goin’ on fumes. Was definitely leaking fluids  and yet, was still trying to get out! 

Effort like that deserved to be acknowledged. 

So Whirl did. He stepped over the lil guy, ignoring the groan the mech gave, fetched one of those special sharpies Brainstorm cooked up for his big ol claws, and marked a line right above where the orange helm lay on the ground. 

“New record!” Whirl crowed, squatting awkwardly on his haunches. He flipped the marker once, dropped it, picked it right back up and offered it to his captive like he’d meant to do it all. “Sign your name, mech!” 

Funny, considering the mech’s hands were still bound. 

“Ah,” The mechs vocalizer glitched and reset, “I’m afraid my limbs are...no longer... responding.”

“No probs, I’ll sign for ya. What’s yer designation?”

“Rung.” 

“Rung?” Whirl repeated, dutifully writing the glyphs out next to the line. “Cute.”

Rung laughed. Then laughed harder, than laughed hard enough to cause something to crack in his chest as he bent awkwardly. It sounded a touch--hysterical? Right before it collapsed into harsh coughs. 

Whirl’s invisible optic-ridge rose. “That funny?”

“You got it right. You  _ spelled _ it right.” Was the explanation, hissed through a combination of chuckles and harsh gasps. “No one gets it right.”

“Your name?” Whirl guessed, raising both invisible optic-ridges. (Well, non-existent, optic-ridges now since his face couldn’t do that anymore, but the reflex to do it was still there and--dammit, focus Whirl!) “What’s so hard about Rung?”

The noises were dying into something more wheezy and sad. “No clue.” He bit out in-between them. 

“Don’t you worry.” Whirl said, gathering Rung up in his claws. “I’ll make sure it’s written on your grave right.” Which was a total lie because Rung was going straight into an unmarked grave, and depending on how much work Whirl felt like doing, said grave could end up being anywhere from the acid-river to the deepest, internal bowels of Cybertron. 

Rung didn’t give that a response (not that he looked like he could, he was still shaking pretty hard from the last effort.) and Whirl took it as his cue to lift him and and carry him inside. 

Normally he would’ve just dragged him in but today that felt a touch--mean. Too mean for the situation. 

Too mean,Whirl thought with an internal snort. Him. Too mean.

What was the world coming too. 

So of course to make up for that thought he dumped Rung rather unceremoniously on the couch, ignored the pained noise it caused and went to start his home-from-work routine. Which consisted of doing a whole lot of absolutely nothing. Your normal kind of absolutely nothing, the kind that involved washing in the other closet his apartment manager insisted was a shower, avoiding the cracked mirror Whirl hadn’t yet removed yet (because that would involve A) looking at it and B) acknowledging he’d been defeated by a mirror and Whirl was the fraggin’ undefeated champion of life, and thus, enjoyed the mirror’s dead husk not-judging him where it hung.)  

The entire relaxation process took about an hour, until Whirls tank reminded him that he’d done a lot today and it was time to fill it. Something he went to do without thought until his optic caught the reflection of a different destroyed husk--this one struggling to vent on his couch. 

_ ‘He looks like he could use a drink.’  _

For once. Whirl and the voices agreed.

He couldn’t just do that though--give someone high grade. Or energon. (Rung looked like he needed energon a lot more.) That Wasn’t Like Whirl and well, anything not like him might clean a bit of his otherwise ruined reputation. 

So he  scratched his aft and wandered around his apartment, debating if he really wanted to give the dead mech energon for the better part of the morning. Rung remained mostly unconscious on the couch, waking up only When Whirl got too close. 

Little guy honestly didn’t look like he got much fuel to begin with, on one claw, but on the other it was a complete waste to give him any. Was just gonna end up on the floor later. 

Course he also didn’t want Rung to die of starvation. Piss poor way to go, and Whirl really didn’t want to deal with getting his body out of the apartment. The fact that they were in a mob owned neighborhood, in a mob owned apartment, that had a whole bunch of people who hadn’t said squat about a half dead mech hanging out on Whirl’s doorstep not even five minutes ago didn’t cross his processor and if it did, Whirl was sure to forget about it because it  _ did not matter. _

Bodies are bodies, and Whirl only killed people the fun way.

It’s why he got into the business to begin with.

Totally.

Which was a whole 'nother train of thought Whirl wanted off of and you know, making rapid and half-thought out decisions sounded like a  _ great  _ distraction! 

So Whirl got two cubes of energon, sprinkled some med grade into Rung’s (to help perk up for the kill later! Killin ain’t fun if the target was half dead to begin with!) and dropped next to the mech on the couch. 

He offered one cube to Rung, realized the mech still had cuff’s on and looked up into the utterly flat look Rung was giving him.

Didn’t take a genius to figure out he was bein’ called an idiot, even if it was silently. 

_ ‘Nah’ _ Whirl thought, optic narrowing. This guy spoke like he was upper class. Probably said something like moron or-or, imbecile. 

Yeah. Imbecile. 

Whirl curved his optic into a grin, a move that had taken him a few decades of practice to accomplish and flicked his field tauntingly against Rung’s tightly pulled one. The mech’s optics didn’t move but Whirl got the impression his attention was split between the cube and Whirl himself, and it didn’t take a genius to know the little guy had to be  _ dying  _ for a sip. Literally, almost. 

“What’s the matter? Not good enough for ya?” He shook the cube, causing splashes of energon to spill. Waiting to see the look on Rung’s face while he wasted the precious fuel being offered--and got nothing for it. No reaction at all. 

Which meant Whirl automatically took the situation from 0 to 100. 

He leaned closer, bringing the cube with him, rolling the liquid lazily as he did. “My bad, were you waiting for  _ permission? _ You have it of course--and I’m sure you can figure out how to use that mouth.” He held the glass out, nearly bumping the smaller mech in the face with it, and tilted ever just so, causing just a drop to fall on Rung’s lips. 

Then waited for the reaction to _ that.  _

The implication was of course, that he wanted Rung to feed from Whirl, be fed, like a  _ pet. _ Whirl always relished the way people revolted from that. How their faces changed from desperate to shocked, or --even better--maintained some mixture of the two. Energon deprivation was an excellent method for a lot of things in Whirl’s line of work, particularly when he was called to...persuade, a rather untalkative client, and the emotions tied to that kind of degradation was always especially delicious. When mechs couldn’t even fuel themselves without assistance well. It always let them know just how bad off they were. 

 

Except Rung wasn’t reacting still, really, which sucked the joy right out of it. 

There was a massive pause, where the mech seemed to study Whirl, gaze intense, before seeming to come to a decision. 

His shoulder’s, his whole body kinda slumped on itself, and then with a practiced ease that pinged _ wrong _ with the ‘Copter, adjusted himself under the cube, mouth open, glossa out. Not touching it, but just below it. 

Like he’s done this before.

Whirl froze, his look caught between a jeer and surprise, field flinging out both. His field hit Rung’s, causing the mech to wince and not, from pain. 

No, definitely not from pain, more from--

_ ‘Nope, abort!’  _ Whirl thought. He forced out a big laugh to cover his own horror, then jerked both cubes away to set them on the cracked table.

“Pit mech I was jus’ messin’ with ya! No wonder they left you alive if you comply  _ that  _ easy.” 

He grabbed the metal binding Rung’s hands between one pincer, and shredded the thing clear through with little effort. Only bonus to the damn claws. 

“Feed yourself, I ain’t your carrier.” He chucked the cuffs behind the couch, uncaring where they went. Clearly they weren’t a whole lot of use if the guy could get out of the apartment while still tied up. And without being tied up, well. Maybe Rung would try something _ fun.  _

Whirl wasn’t in the mood for killing, but he’d toy with a victim so long as the vic fought back. Or at least  _ cried  _ or something.

That--what Rung had done-- was just... uncomfortable. That kind of uneasy, immediate submissiveness, combined with that intense calculating look--the very one Rung was still giving him? 

Whirl knew when he was being judged. 

He also knew a few other things, things about how the upper echelon of the mob worked. How they liked to work. So he did a little bit of studying himself when he threw himself back on the couch, playing the whole thing off as a joke. 

Rung was frozen, still in that awkward, still, overly submissive body-language (and boy did Whirl know a thing or two about body language. Had to when he couldn’t express yourself with your face and your own vision was more than a little fucked up from being forced to go all mono instead of duo.) His mouth was even still open for a moment, only closing after a what felt like the longest click in Whirl’s existence. Almost like he was waiting for something.

Something from Whirl. 

The uncomfortable awkwardness reached a level that immediately hit Whirl’s “fuck this” meter and he reached for the controller to the holoscreen before really thinking about it.

“You into terrible thrillers, Rung?” He said casually, picking up his own cube as he fiddled with things, “‘Cause my neighbor is super into them and not at all into protecting his own damn shit. Easiest thing I’ve ever hacked in my life.” He plucked the other cube up after a click as well, practically shoving it at the wreck of a mech next to him (who took it.)

Rung said nothing--but Whirl didn’t miss how he seemed to come back when the ‘copter said his name.

Weird flinching, weird obedience, weird slag in general…

This was turning up to be quite the mystery.

Maybe he’d keep Rung around after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a hot minute to edit lol. 
> 
> Warnings: mentions of rape, slavery, death, mob related murders/ threats, creepy dudes, medical stuff, mentions/thoughts/etc of suicide, and general underhanded mob things. You see anything else you want up here throw me a line!

Today was supposed to be a day off. 

Just like the last four days were supposed to be his day off. 

Which meant once again Whirl’d woken up with marching orders. This one at least, was a quickie errand, no big deal--but it was because it  _ ruined his plans.  _

Plans to figure out what to do with the dead mech.

The dead mech who’d managed to live an entire week in his apartment. Making sarcastic quips and some two dozen escape attempts while at it.  

Rung stared at him, cracked optics reflecting a hundred little yellow dots that were--ah, right. Whirl’s own optic. The med grade was helping; in the same way a backseat driver helped steer a shuttle--just enough to make things annoying. 

The small, orange body was hunched in on itself, sitting up as best it could on the couch. Parts of Rung were turning so pale he was nearly greying out and  _ ugh.  _

The guy really wasn’t going to make it if something wasn’t done.  

“If something” meaning “Whirl” as in “Whirl has to do something” and double ugh _ , _ Whirl  _ hated _ doing things. Especially these kinds of things! With pressure and consequences! Primus what happened to the days when you could just ignore your problems away!? 

_ ‘You know that was always a you and you only thing.’  _ A slightly friendlier inner voice quipped. Whirl was big on not discriminating though, and thus, refused to acknowledge it. 

See? 

Ignoring fixed some problems!

Just...not the Rung one. 

The mech was sarcastic and “there” enough to make a number of more funnier-than-they-should-have-been quips, but Rung had been fading, and not in a good way. In more of a kinda dying way. 

Definitely dying kind of way. 

Which alright, given that it had been like a week, wasn’t exactly a  _ surprise _ , but….

The thought of it happening gave Whirl the weirdest impression that he was frowning (which of course, caused it’s own round of dissociation because _ ha, _ guess who couldn’t frown!) It was unsettling by itself though; in the way he knew meant he didn’t actually want Rung to die. Particularly not after how he’d managed to hold his own in last night’s Double Jeopardy match and oh Primus, Whirl did _ not  _ want to sort out weird emotions today, thanks! Because then he’d have to analyze why he felt weird and why he wanted Rung to kinda live, why he wanted to kinda figure him and those  _ weird as frag  _ interactions out and why he thought the guy was funny and  _ uuurrrgh.  _

Feelings. Gross. 

Gross didn’t change the fact that Rung was likely gonna kick it soon if Whirl didn’t do  _ something.  _ So his options were to either fix Rung and avoid his feelings, or not fix Rung and have to deal with them when he died (Because Whirl would try to avoid those nasty feelings, and then kill them with high grade when they wouldn’t just leave him alone and he  _ knew _ himself. He’d go chasing down all kinds of holes in an attempt to avoid anything other than vicious contempt for life and feelings of unending victory and yeah. Yeah, Rung was gonna have to live. At  _ least  _ temporarily. Yup. No emotional crisis, not today! Rung living was a small price to pay for dodging  _ that  _ scrap!) 

Mech wasn’t gonna live on his own though and Whirl found himself opening his comm, hitting up the poor sod he was supposed to harass today. 

::Yo, buddy. Change of plans. I want you to meet me here. Yeah. My place.:: He said, barely listening to reply. ::Bring your medical shit, I got a way for you to even out your debts..::

He ended the comm before getting a reply. No need--the medic would jump at a chance to clear  those debts. 

So what if the guy thought he was getting even with the mob as a whole, rather than just Whirl personally? Too bad. It was a hard lesson to learn that the mob’s members didn’t always speak for it, and hey if the guy thought he was being taken advantage of, he could bring it up with Whirl’s boss. Write a complaint. Ask for his money back.

See where that all got him. 

_That_ finally put some pep in his spark and Whirl went to fetch energon for himself and his “guest,” content he’d solved all his issues temporarily. 

Who needed permanent fixtures these days, anyways! 

xXx

Paint flicked down bit by bit as Ambulon stood dead opticed, staring at Rung. Rung stared back, unwilling (or unable) to get up from the couch. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” The medic said finally.

“Oh you’ve fixed worse.” Whirl tutted, perched on a barstool that had magically appeared in his apartment one day. Or at least, “magically appeared” is what he’d told the bar he’d liberated the chair from. 

“I didn’t fix them, I made them functional.” Ambulon corrected, because there was a difference, and that difference was _ very _ large. “I only had to ensure ‘they’ lasted as long as your boss wanted them to.” The medic didn’t make air quotation marks. Didn’t have to, the way he said it. 

Everyone in the room knew he was talking about some of Whirl’s prior “guests.” 

“He’s your boss too, Boo. And don’t you forget it!” Whirl sing-songed. He would’ve booped Ambulon’s nose if he was closer; because nothing pissed the medic off more than that and Whirl loved the face he made, but as it was he was seated comfortably and the amount of annoyance wouldn’t increase enough to make him want to get up. “Now hop to it!” 

“Pardon me.” Rung said, startling Ambulon and delighting Whirl, “but I’m afraid I never asked to be fixed. The exact opposite, in fact.”

Whirl snorted through his vents. “Nice try but Boo here gets that all the time.” 

“Often enough.” Ambulon said, in that distracted I’m-examining-the-patient voice all medics used. “How are you managing to talk? Your vocal lines look nearly crushed.”

“Technical skill and aim, on behalf of my aggressor.” Rung was speaking clearly, even if his voice was faint (fainter than it had been when Whirl first got ahold of him) and filled with static. 

Ambulon scanned him again. 

“You pissed off someone good enough to do that? And lived?” He asked, clearly distracted by the results of the scan. 

Rung would have shrugged if he could’ve. “I have a way with words.” 

“Apparently.” 

They trailed off into silence as Ambulon got caught up in uncovering and cataloging all of Rung’s damage. Silence that stretched on for longer than Whirl could tolerate. 

“So?” The ‘Copter interrupted. “You gonna fix him? Yes or No?”

“Please say no.” Rung said. He was ignored.  

“Yes.” Ambulon spoke slowly, still lost in his findings.. “I can fix him--you. It’s not going to be comfortable though--and I’m going to have to come back a few times.” Finally he broke optic contact with his patient, turning to Whirl. “What he really needs is a dunk in a med-tank.”

“Yeah?” Whirl perked up. “Cause I got a guy.”

“I’ll scream if you move me.” Rung threatened faintly. He was, again, ignored. 

“Lemme just comm him and  _ oooh, _ lookit that, he’s free right now!” Whirl’s optic had shrunk while he communicated, the buzz of comms loud enough for all to here. 

His voice tauntingly gleeful. Clearly whomever he had spoken too hadn’t been persuaded so much as forced into letting them borrow his tank. 

Not that that would surprise anyone in the room. 

“You of course, are gonna travel with us, Boo.” Whirl said, optic enlarging as the ‘Copter focused back outwords. “Do all the good stuff! Prep, surgery, recovery, transportation--”

“A tank is not surgery.” Ambulon shot back immediately. He was already moving though, packing up some things and taking out others. 

There was some benefit to working with people who knew first hand what would happen if they disobeyed. Even if they were horribly vocal about it. 

Whirl shrugged. “Whatever. I just need this guy to recover.”

Ambulon hadn’t asked why, hadn’t needed too but the look he shot Rung was filled with pity. He approached the smaller mech, jostling him gently as he adjusted the mech for movement. 

“Your bedside manner is horrific.” Rung croaked, in some last ditch attempt to piss someone--anyone--off. 

“Sorry.” Ambulon responded, as he finished prepping, lifting Rung up. He intended to carry him down the stairs to the transport he assumed Whirl had waiting. A horrible way to move a patient but one Ambulon was beyond used to by now. “I’m sure it would be a lot better if I’d gotten the chance to finish out my residency training.”  _ That _ had been directed at Whirl. 

He got a shrug for his efforts. 

“Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you killed a guy and had to run for it.”  Whirl said, hopping off the barstool, and gesturing for the medic to go out the door. 

Ambulon had no response--but Whirl didn’t miss the way his shoulders shrunk in on themselves before he moved. 

Whirl snorted. 

Buttons--and the mechs they controlled--were so easy to press, if you knew where they were. 

xXx

Rung ended up needing almost 24 hours in the tank to get to an acceptable point. Acceptable by Whirl’s standards, not Ambulon’s, who had initially suggested another day and was immediately shot down on grounds of being “over-cautious.” 

“No one ever needs as much recovery time as they say, everyone knows that!” Whirl had said, rolling his optic in a way Ambulon wasn’t sure was supposed to be possible. 

He’d protested more, but in the end, bowed to Whirl’s Superior- Logic. Capital letters, because they were the names of his titty guns. 

Ambulon did not want to taunt a mech with loaded titty guns. 

So back they went, to Whirl’s crappy little apartment, whereupon Ambulon pulled the light coma he’d placed Rung in and went about waking the mech up. 

At least, Whirl thought, the guy looked better.

Which is exactly what he told him, the second Rung’s optics onlined. 

“Unfortunately.” Rung muttered, as his HUD displayed for the first time, loading and showcasing all that had been healed. It displayed some other things as well, things he didn’t want to see. Things he pretended not to see, as Ambulon--who he realized, vaguely was still there, propped him up. 

“I realize this is pointless to tell you.” The medic told him, with a pointed look at Whirl, “But the less you move the faster you’ll heal.” 

He said some other things as well but Rung deemed them unimportant, and thus tuned him out. 

The only thing that held his attention now was the blue helicopter who’d chosen to fix him--and the reason _ why. _

It was the first question he asked once Ambulon had gone.

“Why what?” Whirl repeated; flitting about the apartment, grabbing things only to set them back down. Rung didn’t bother to try and figure out what he was doing. 

Another of Whirl’s dodges--but now, Rung wasn’t in the mood for playing. 

“Why go through this effort? Why _ fix  _ me?” 

Whirl didn’t answer for a moment, instead choosing to curse out a glass that cracked in his claws. Rung was patient though. Patient and willing to bore his newly fixed gaze right into his captor until he got an answer, or was otherwise ignored. 

They both knew if it was the latter, Rung would just ask again. 

(And again, and again, and again…) 

“I like the fight in you.” Whirl said finally, with a dramatic leer that raked down Rung’s body. “You seemed like you’d put up a hell of a struggle if you had the chance.” 

He knew by now that Whirl liked the struggle, liked giving a mech a fair shot at his chance to live--despite all verbal evidence to the contrary.  

Whirl swore it made their defeat sweeter, but Rung wasn’t stupid. Even half dead he’d caught on to plenty. Such as Whirl’s odd sense of morals. They were a lot less odd,once you realized he used it to get out of senseless killing. Or that his ridiculous excuses and outbursts usually covered up some good deed he’d done. 

The one to call out in this particular instance was obvious.

“You aren’t keeping me here for pleasure.” Rung said--then, knowing Whirl would purposely misinterpret, added; “You don’t approve of rape.” 

“Really?” Whirl snorted. Or tried to, anyways. “What gave you that impression?” 

It was a bluff, it was a bad one, and Rung was  _ done playing this game.  _

“Two days ago. On your way home. Your neighbor had his partner trapped in an ally. You removed him--I heard.” Rung tilted his head to the open window. It wasn’t big enough for a mech to crawl through and Whirl had thus left it open throughout Rung’s stay. “You spent twenty minutes afterwards complaining about why the partner didn’t simply leave or allowed you to interfere.” 

That part had been done in the apartment, while Whirl had slammed down his dinner. 

Current Whirl was not slamming things, but he was doing his best to call up a glare. “So? I like a fight, and it was an easy way to get into one.” 

Horrible, horrible redirect but also the exact kind of thing Whirl was inclined to say.

It’d been exactly what Rung wanted, until he’d realized it was mostly a farce. Not exactly a lie-but not something Whirl would act on either. At least not lightly. Not without serious pushing--far beyond the amount Rung had been doing. 

At this point Rung didn’t know how much he had to push, to warrant a violent reaction. 

“You made a few comments last night.” Rung continued, as though Whirl hadn’t spoken.  He didn’t have to specify beyond that, because Whirl knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“So? I said a part of a movie was gross. It was a moment thing--an  _ in _ the moment thing!” Whirl was growing more guarded, defensive. More desperate to prove he was the exact opposite of what he was being called out on --except Rung wasn’t done talking. 

“You weren’t discussing the scene. You were talking about the main character's actions.” He said, voice gaining volume and okay. He saw the moment Whirl realized he wasn’t done talking--would not be done talking, for a while. That he would keep at it until he had an answer or had pressured Whirl into doing something stupid. 

Whirl, as predicted, went on the offensive. 

“You’re betting a whole lot on this. Like your own life.” He lurched forward, doing his best to loom. Trying to intimidate. Trying to threaten.

Finally.

Rung saw his chance. 

He too, switched tracks.“You’re not a rapist. You’re barely a mobster.” He said, standing as his voice hardened. Responding to the threat with one of his own. 

“Excuse you?” Whirl spat, surprised. He didn’t move though--even when Rung took a step forward, into Whirl’s space. 

“It’s amazing your neighbors respect you at all, you’re all looks. No brawn or brain anywhere in you.” Rung drew himself up, arms crossing over his chest, every piece of plating radiating haughtiness. A mimicry of another mech, in a different place. 

The thought went through him like a surcharge. He stuck his chin out, voice pitched to a perfect snottish tone. “I doubt you even work for the mob--you’re too  _ pathetic _ .” 

Despite being physically unable of gaping, Whirl did an excellent impression of doing just so.

The faked smug air began to turn into real smugness. Finally he’d done it. Goaded Whirl into doing what Rung wanted all along.

He’d feel bad if he weren’t so relieved.

xXx

Whirl was in fact, gaping. Internally, if not externally.

Rung had done a lot but he hadn’t spoken--like that. With that _ tone. _ That was definitely a tone! A rage inducing, smug, asshat tone, that was 100% intended--

_ Wait. _

Nevermind how close he was! He was almost bumping chest-plates with Whirl! Well, chestplate to thigh anyway. He was definitely in Whirl’s space. Like he wanted to square off--except they both knew who’d win that fight! 

_ Waaait. _

Going on like this, insulting Whirl like this--after he had him fixed! And fed him and generally didn’t kill him! It was almost like--

Almost like…

_ Lightbulb!  _

It was a weird realization, considering Rung had tried to escape a few times--but;

“You want me to kill you.” Whirl said, slowly. It’d taken him a moment, to pull back his own anger, but in the end, the abrupt, sudden weirdness had cleared all the red threatening to enter his painfully 2D vision. Rung kept staring him down, a frown slashing his face but it was no use.  Whirl recognized the truth when he saw it. Especially when it was painful and angsty. “All the escape attempts. All the sassy comments. You weren’t trying to get out. You were trying to piss me off.” 

“Is the idea of a mech choosing death over enslavement that foreign to you?” Rung challenged. He took a microstep, field clashing angrily against Whirl’s. Except now that Whirl was looking for it, it wasn’t exactly angry. Conflicted though, absolutely. 

So Whirl leaned back. Then stepped back, even as he kept arguing. 

“That what this is? Enslavement? Are you my slave?” 

“I am not here of my own free will am I?” Rung responded, but not before he’d hesitated. Whirl caught it. 

Saw it. 

_ ‘Hello button.’  _

“Nah mech, you’re here because you messed up.” Of all the things Whirl had said, he was not expecting that one to hit. The fucked up look that crossed Rung’s face, the flash of pain and horror and  _ fear, _ went by too fast for Whirl’s singular vision to truly see, to decipher, but it was there. It was there and it wasn’t anger, which is what normal people did when faced with those kinds of statements.

There were people who deserved what they got and and there was collateral damage and Rung was absolutely the latter. An innocent that got in the way, maybe tried to bring justice to the underworld. Maybe a bystander who saw too much or a lawyer who raised too many questions, but the fact was even the most beaten down got mad about that. Even the most destroyed knew the unfairness of it.

Once again, Rung’s response wasn’t _ right. _

There was a very long pause, in which emotions battled themselves out over Rung’s face. Whirl let him have that fight, and let him concede it to. Watched as Rung closed himself off, shut his emotions down. 

It wasn’t a foreign action, it was just weird to see someone else do it. 

“If you aren’t going to kill me than I am going to go lie down. I’ve had a very long day.” Rung said finally, then moved to do so. 

Whirl let him. Too caught up in his own processor to notice the sass, or care. 

Somewhere in his mind, another piece to the puzzle clicked into place. 

xXx

Whirl’s internal chronometer read 4 am. 

It read 4:05 by the time it took the ‘Copter to process the bangs that had woken him up weren’t a lovers spat or some other shady business, but someone pounding on his door. 

_ ‘Kill the fragger.’  _ Snarled his processor, and who was Whirl but a slave to his inner thoughts?

He threw himself up, storming past Rung--who was also awake, not that that’s a surprise with the way the fucker trying to knock Whirl’s door down was carrying on--and snarled aloud; “Fraggin A’ I’m  _ comin’!” _

He didn’t remember pulling a gun but it was there in his left claw when his right one went to yank the door open. 

His furious stare was met by two calm ones, and a raised, gold badge. 

Frag.

Cops.

Whirl’s vents heaved a sigh that moved his whole cockpit, right before he curved the most innocent looking smile he could manage into his optic.

“Hey boys!” Menace was replaced something that might’ve pinged as friendly. “What can I do for ya?”

“Well I dunno,” One said playfully, forcing  Whirl to hide a groan because fraggin’ dammit, of all the cops to show up it had to be _ Lockdown.  _ “But I bet if you think real hard, you’ll figure it out.”  

Which meant money. 

It always meant money. 

Whirl’s optic narrowed. “This a shakedown?”

“Just a reminder.” Lockdown flicked his hand, causing his buddy cop to lower his badge. “Those of us on the payroll like being, you know. Paid.”

“You were paid you greedy fuck-nugget.” Whirl snipped, but backed up to allow Lockdown to shove his way through.

Rule one of mob related business, you do it  _ behind _ closed doors. 

Even if that means having a standoff in your short, awkward hallway about a debt you were pretty sure you had paid.

Maybe paid. 

If you hadn’t paid, then you were going to pay it, anyway!

“Really? Cause that’s not what our guy says.” Lockdown purred, as he stepped past Whirl, his flunky moving right behind him. 

Neither jumped when Whirl slammed the door, purposefully loud. Nor did they seem to care when Whirl stretched his frame out so he could activate his looming behind them, unspoken threats soaking his EM field. 

No, instead both cops looked around the same way visitors to a theme park did. Happily touching things and eye-fucking everything. 

Including Rung. 

“Hey.” The other cop said, nudging Lockdown and flicked a finger towards the small mech. “Look.”

Lockdown did. “Oh my.” He stalked forward, into Whirl’s living room. “Whirl, what _ have  _ you been hiding?”

Rung stood then, but stayed on standing, keeping Whirl’s shitty coffee table between himself and the cops. 

One of which whistled at him. 

“What a pretty little thing.” The buddy cop was saying, as he and Lockdown broke apart to approach Rung side by side. 

The mech held steady--was staring at Lockdown in fact, but Whirl wasn’t having it. Wasn’t having any of it, from the 4 am wake up call to the insults and general attitude. 

He’d had enough of that from Rung today. 

“Yeah and it’s _ my _ pretty little thing. Back off it.” He snapped, taking his towering-enforcer act out of the hall and shoving it rudely close to the two cops backs. 

The second cop twitched, then took the bait, swinging back around to stare down Whirl. Lockdown on the other hand, did no such thing.

_ ‘That’s why we hate him.’ _

“Stunning.” Lockdown reached out, clearly intending to brush a hand down Rung’s face. “I’ll forgive your little payment oversight if you let me borrow it.”

“I bite.” Rung deadpanned, helm rearing up and out of reach. 

Lockdown laughed. “Feisty! I like feisty.” He briefly turned to Whirl, to show the delighted grin. “Who knew we had the same tastes?” 

Whirl’s snark went to answer but Rung’s was faster. In the haughty, smug, upscale tone he’d used early he taunted; “Oh, you don’t. I barely had to look at you to figure out you’ll just take whatever scraps you can get.” 

::Rung.:: Whirl warned, immediately over comms--because Lockdown was between the two of them and that was not a good time to bait him. Unless he was trying to get  _ Lockdown _ to kill him in which case--:: _ Rung _ .:: He repeated, this time making it a threat. :: _ Don’t.::  _

Rung ignored him entirely, making the chances of this a suicide attempt up it’s percentage by about one thousand percent. 

Lockdown’s optics narrowed briefly, anger flashing through them. He covered it quickly, and instead turned back to face Rung. “Interesting.” He said in a voice Whirl did not remotely like. 

He made to take another step forward but caught himself, optics catching on Rung’s hip. 

“Very interesting,” He continued, now in an entirely different voice. An “I know a secret” kind of voice. Not the kind Whirl liked other people to use. “Considering where you’re from. I didn’t think they’d  _ allow _ back-talk.” 

Rung’s reaction was instant. The smaller mech’s vents caught-fear shooting through his EM field. Unbridled, utter terror that swept the smug act away.

Whirl felt it--and so did Lockdown.

“Poor little thing, you’re far from home aren’t you? Does your owner know you’re lost? Should I contact him?” Lockdown taunted, mouth lifting to a grin. 

Rung’s optics snapped back, away from Lockdown. Searched the room. Landed on Whirl.

Two large circles of pure panic stared into Whirl’s spark as if he was the last pod on the spaceship. Panic and an odd, underlying current of helplessness, with a helping of something that Whirl refused to believe was trust, but was instead some kind of hope that he’d make the bad things go away.

No one had ever looked at him like that. Not for a long, long time--and never without regretting it. 

A part of him--a large part that was more most of him than it wasn’t-- didn’t want Rung to regret it. Not when the mech looked like that. Looked at _ him _ like that. 

Whirl’d been largely ignored, and that was Lockdown’s mistake. He was not a mech you  _ could  _ ignore, especially not in his own damn home. 

Here’s a fun fact most people knew: Whirl had gun titties. Very nice, automatic gun titties, that could fire deadly accurate armor piercing rounds for up to 250 paces. 

Now here’s a fact that most people didn’t know; Whirl could move them  _ sideways _ . 

“I told you to back off.” Whirl spat, combat routines coming alive as his guns snapped to target each cop. “ _ Especially _ if you want any credits outta me tonight, aft-hat.” 

That did it. Both cops turned their attention to him. Lockdown’s buddy cop’s weapons onlined, but the mech himself stopped him with a slow raise of his hand. 

“Easy, Enforcer. Just having some fun playing with you. We’ll settle for our payment.” Lockdown wasn’t dumb enough to glance in Rung’s direction but it was clear he wanted to. To keep scaring him, oogling him, or maybe for an entirely different reason but whatever it was, Whirl wasn’t having it.  

“I don’t play.” Whirl growled. “I’ll give you half now outta good will that you’re not lying, but I’ll check with  _ my _ guys before I give you the rest.”  His guns cocked, the sound thunderous in the small apartment. 

“You do that. In the meantime, I’ll just make sure you’re supposed to have  _ that. _ ” Lockdown waved a hand in Rung’s direction, the implication clear he meant Rung himself. 

It wasn’t lost on anyone in the room that Rung had been abruptly degraded from a “he” to a “that.” Least of all Whirl, who knew what that kind of language meant. 

“Oh he’s mine alright. Your aft’s gonna be mine too, if you don’t move.” Whirl threatened, bringing his helm down so it was level with Lockdowns.  “I got a nice spot on my wall for it--and your head.” 

Which might have been considered a poor move if Whirl’s guns weren’t so close to both cop’s sparks. 

Lockdown retreated, his flunky moving with him, until they were back in the hallway and Whirl was firmly in front of Rung. He accessed one of his bank accounts--or rather, a bank account--and threw money into one of Lockdown’s. 

Both of them watched the process on their individual HUDS, Lockdown’s expression faintly amused until the transfer completed. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” He said, before leaning over to look at Rung. “Have a good night now!” He waved, giving a predatory grin, until Whirl’s frame abruptly blocked his view. The bigger mech’s engine snarled, guns twitching in Lockdown’s face, encouraging him to leave. 

With a larger grin, Lockdown did. 

Whirl stalked behind them, all the way out the door. There he leaned against the frame, until both were down the stairs and out of sight. Then he leaned a bit longer, for good measure. A nice, threatening slouch, arms crossed over his chassis, under his --live-- guns. 

Finally, when he was assured they wouldn’t be coming back, Whirl shoved off the wall and came back inside. 

He wanted to make a joke. Processor was coming up with one in fact--but all thoughts died when he caught sight of Rung. 

Shoulders still hunched, helm dropped, optics down and staring off to the side. Arms were crossed tightly across his chest as though to protect it, field held tight against that frame and this--

This was the most scared Whirl had ever seen Rung.

The reality of it hit him, along with the  _ wrongness.  _

Rung had never been terrified of Whirl, the guy who was supposed to kill him, but was freaked by two idiotic cops? Whirl had done much, much worse than threaten to rape and yet; all it had taken was a couple of words from fucking Lockdown and Rung had shut up and made panicked-optics at Whirl? Like Whirl was gonna--what? Save him? Save him from what exactly, besides Lockdown’s flirty bullshit? 

Whirl had, but that wasn’t right.    


Rung’s reactions weren’t right. 

Rung’s reactions weren’t  _ ever  _ right.

The completed puzzle was _ right there.  _ The full clock. It was being stubborn though, and it wasn’t letting Whirl force everything into place. As always, his patience wore thin and anger won out.

He took the easy route. 

“I.” Whirl announced, marching himself up to Rung, “Am way scarier than those guys.”

Rung didn’t acknowledge. Didn’t say anything at all but he also wasn’t moving, which meant he was far closer to Whirl than most people like to be. Was in fact, venting a bit easier the longer Whirl was in the room.  Almost as if he was safer with Whirl there. 

“So what gives?” He challenged--because if there was one thing he did want right now, it was an answer. 

He got nothing. Not an answer or a hum or even an optic twitch. 

Just a hunched, scared bot, who looked a lot smaller than he was. 

What had Lockdown said?  _ Far from home-- does your owner know you’re lost? _

Not partner, or sparkmate, or friends. 

Owner. 

Whirl thought back farther. To all the times Rung had gone weirdly submissive. How he never acted like he should have. How things never quite added up. How Rung never seemed like a normal guy who’d just been caught up in the wrong things. 

Who was never quite the innocent mech who fought for justice and lost.  

No Rung seemed more aware than that. More aware than anyone not directly involved in crime would be and, thinking on it, wasn’t the Boss’s kid convicted last month? Why would anyone hold onto a witness this long? A live witness?

Answer? 

They wouldn’t.

“You lied to me.” Whirl accused and hello right track! Rung’s flinch gave it all away. “You weren't some innocent idiot that pissed off the wrong criminal. You’ve been running with them--with  _ us _ \--for a long time, haven’t you?” 

Rung hugged himself harder. The mech looked small in a way he never had, even half dead and lying on the floor. This was what he should have looked like when he’d first arrived. Overwhelmed--defeated. 

It looked wrong on Rung’s frame. 

“What was it you really did?” Whirl asked but he was talking more to himself for that one. His processor was on the puzzle, the clock. On trying to get it to tick. To work. To be complete.

To figure out what just what the pit was  _ going on.  _

Why would his boss not tell him what was up? Why withhold information? Sure Whirl didn’t usually operate on a lot of information to begin with, but he’d been encouraged to hold onto Rung. Play with him a little. 

You didn’t do that for someone dangerous. You definitely didn’t do that for someone in the mob family--unless it was a betrayer. 

His optic swept over Rung again and this time it landed on something he’d never noticed. Something Lockdown had. A little thing cleaned and cleared once Rung was fixed, that stood out now that Whirl was looking for it. 

The missing piece. The thing that had been bothering him.

It was staring him right in his not-face.

He reached out a claw, brushing it gently over Rung’s hip, and got a jerky ex-vent in response. “This is the Functionalist Family’s symbol.” He said slowly. It was, and it wasn’t just any symbol, but a particular one. “Their symbol o _ f ownership.” _

The puzzle--the clock--flickered on. Hands moved, bringing it to life. 

Completed it. 

And Whirl knew. 

Rung wasn’t a psychoanalyst. He was a bona-fide mob  _ slave.  _

_ Primus above.  _

“You belong to them?” Whirl said, the words coming out as a statement more than a question. 

Rung flinched again, optics dropped to the floor. “You said it yourself. I messed up. I  _ deserve  _ my death.”

Which said a lot of things but revealed even more--they’d gotten to him. Deep in his head. Just like they had to Whirl. 

Turned him on himself, turned his thoughts inside out and even though he knew it was wrong, Rung believed he was still theirs, and he was upset he’d failed. 

They’d given him to Whirl and now the copter felt the full force of that insult. Not against him, but against Rung. 

They had wanted him to suffer. To know he’d been thrown out. Not good enough to be finished off by the upper family, who controlled Rung’s entire existence for fuck knew how long, but taken and tortured by some low end thug. To show in the end, that they never thought of him as a real being. Just a toy to be thrown away. 

No wonder Rung wanted to die. 

Another thought hit Whirl. A wild thought, the kind that didn’t have a voice but simply appeared. The crazy kind of thing that had lead to him joining the mob in the first place.

“You want to die to get away from them, right?” Whirl said slowly, as if he was tasting the words. Seeing if they felt right. “So they can’t change their minds, use you again. To make sure this isn’t some big ol’ ...ploy.” That would be just like the Fam too. The upper elechon of the mob was full of sophisticated rich guys, yes, but every one of them was brutal. In more ways than Whirl could ever be. He hadn’t met a lot of slaves. Not many from the Functionalist Family. But even meeting one was enough. 

“Yes.” Rung said, so softly it could barely be heard.  _ “Please.”  _

Whirl nodded. “I can--I can do that.” 

He could definitely do that.

He could kill Rung. Kill his identity. His purpose. Then take the mech that was left, the one that wanted a life away from the mob, the sassy, funny one--and turn him into someone else entirely. 

“How do you feel about changing frames?” He asked calmly, and curved his optic in a smile when Rung’s shocked face jerked up to meet his. 


End file.
